Trust Me
by Elialys
Summary: 'Olivia Dunham, better known as Olive in her young years, learns at the age three that you cannot trust people.' SPOILERS UP TO 3X08 ENTRADA.
1. PART 1

**Title:** Trust Me

**Rating**: T

**Pairing**: Olivia/Peter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything, no profit is made out of this story.

**Spoilers**: Up to 3x08 "**Entrada**"; the second part will also have spoilers for "**Marionette**" (3x09)

**N/A: **I know there are a lot of people waiting for my new chapter of "Here and There", and I SWEAR it will come; but 'Entrada' put that story in my head, and I just had to get it out.

I actually cut it in half, because it's pretty big for a oneshot; it is finished, though, so the second part will be posted tomorrow night :)

This is an Olivia story through and through, from her childhood, to AFTER the current events of the 3rd season. This first part is completely spoiler free though.

Sorry for the mistakes, it's unbetaed :)

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* * *

TRUST ME

* * *

**

_"If you don't trust me, then there's no hope."_ -Olivia Dunham, 'Entrada'-

* * *

Olivia Dunham, better known as Olive in her young years, learns at the age three that you cannot trust people.

Grownup people, to be more specific. Most of the time, children can be trusted, because they are just as clueless as she is. That what they call 'innocence', apparently.

But grownups lie.

They tell you "_It's not going to hurt you, Olive," _and then they plunge a needle in your arm.

They say _"Don't be scared, Olive, it's not real,"_ but what you see while seating on that weird Chair doesn't feel like a dream at all. You can hear them, all around you. The monsters, always coming closer, jumping out of the shadows when you less expect them. And no matter how hard you scream or cry or even pinch yourself, you don't wake up. Not until they take you away from the Chair, anyway.

And they say _"It's okay, it's alright now, nobody's angry with you. You didn't do anything bad, it's alright, Olive. Everything's going to be okay." _But you don't believe them.

Because then, they just put more needles in your arm and make you sit on the Chair again.

She trusts her Mommy and Daddy, though. She guesses it's because…well, they are her Mommy and Daddy.

She doesn't see them every day. Daddy works a lot. And Mommy's sick. She doesn't know what her Mommy's illness is exactly, because they don't tell her. Olive could stay with her at night before, but now, they've told her Mommy has a baby in her tummy, so she has to rest even more.

So she stays in the Daycare at night, too. It's okay. Most nights, Nick comes into her bed.

They hide under the covers, curled up face to face, forehead against forehead, knees against knees, fingers intertwine. They love to do that, because it keeps the nightmares away, and it makes them less scary during the day, when they play Wilam's Games.

Daddy's home tonight, though, so he came and picked her up early, so she can sleep at home.

Except that she can't sleep.

There are moving shadows on her walls, and shadows hide monsters. And the noises they are making outside are so loud that she can hear them even when she covers her ears with her hands.

Nick is not here, so she slides off her bed and hides under it, getting as close to the wall as she can, eyes closed. The dust makes her cough, but she knows it's still a safer place.

And then, she hears them. Not the monsters, no, but her Mommy and her Daddy. They are arguing.

It never occurs to her that it is very strange that she can hear their conversation loud and clear, when they are in their bedroom, on the other side of the house.

But after all, she's only three, and she spends most of her days pointing out objects that glimmers. So it doesn't seem that strange.

"I want you to take her _out_ of this place, Patrick!" her mom is almost shouting, and Olive thinks that she shouldn't get upset, because it's bad for her.

"Don't be like that, Lynne, it's just a daycare, she's- "

"Don't talk to me as if I were stupid, simply because I don't know exactly what you and your army are doing over there. All that I know is that they _are_ doing something to her!"

"Marilyn, she's fine."

"Fine? FINE? She has _needles marks _in the crook of her arm, Patrick! I saw them when I was bathing her earlier, and I asked her what it was. You know what she said? '_Nothing, Mommy. Wilam said it was okay, that it was just part of the Games_.' How the fuck am I supposed to feel like she's _okay_ when she tells me something like that?"

Olive was starting to feel bad for having told Mommy that, but the thought quickly disappears when she hears her Mommy say the VERY BAD word, which makes her gasp in shock. And she swallows a lungful of dust at the same time, which makes her cough harder. She misses what they say next.

"…know I can't, Lynne."

"Patrick, please, she's only a baby."

Olive scowls. She's _not_ a baby, she's a big girl.

"I know, honey. But…you have to understand that I have _no choice_. Do you think I want this for Olive? That I want her…experimented on, or whatever they are doing to her? You know that I could get arrested for simply talking about it with you right now? This is out of my control, I can't do anything!"

"I don't care about your orders! She's my daughter, and I will not allow for her to be used as a guinea pig. If you don't do anything about it, I will. I will just take her and leave."

And just as suddenly as it has started, Olive can't hear their voices anymore. Nor the monsters'.

But she still feels scared.

She doesn't want to go away, without her Daddy. She doesn't like the Games, it's true, but she can't leave Nick. Nick is her best friend, they protect each other. He would be so scared all the time if she wasn't there to keep him safe.

She tries to breathe deep, as Walter's taught her, to calm herself when she's scared; but the dust is just making her cough too hard now, and she ends up feeling more and more panicked. She crawls out from under the bed, trying to cover her mouth so Mommy won't come check on her.

She's shaking.

And whenever she gets _that_ scared, only one thought invades her mind.

She has to find Nick. If she finds Nick, she will be okay.

Once again, she's only three.

Three year olds are aware enough to make connections and to take decisions, but their awareness is still very narrow. All that she knows is that her house is only five minutes away from the Daycare, down the road, and that Nick is there. It's not her fault, really.

It's almost like she's been programmed to react that way.

So she puts on socks all by herself, and the winter coat that Mommy's left on a chair in her room. Her boots are next to the entrance door, but she can't go there, they would hear her and stop her. She finds an old pair of shoes in her own closet. They are a little small, but she couldn't care less. She's still frantic, only doing all those things because she's three and habits rule her life. It's January, which should mean nothing here in Florida, but it's been a strangely chilly month so far, and it's night.

She opens the window in her room and slips out of the house without a noise.

And then she walks. As fast as her short legs can make her go –which isn't very fast. The Daycare really is down the road, she can already see the dark shapes of its building, but things seem to stretch endlessly into the dark of the night. And there's not many lights around, it's mostly just the moonlight, and she sees them alright, the shadows, everywhere.

She tries to keep her eyes on the building, breathing hard, and already feeling very cold –she couldn't close her coat, she doesn't know how to zip it yet. She's so scared now that she knows she will start crying really soon if she doesn't find Nick quick, and she hates crying.

But she's three and she's scared, alone outside in the middle of the night, so when her bottom lip starts to quiver, she really can't do anything about it.

And then she sees it, and it makes her walk faster, because it means she's _almost_ there.

Less than fifty yards away, the swing set glitters brightly.

She runs toward it. Of all the things that glimmer in the Daycare, it really is her favorite. She loves to go and swing on it, because it makes her feel like there are stars all around her, even when the sun is bright and warm above her.

She feels like she's flying into a very shiny space.

But as she comes closer to the glittering swing set, she realizes that someone's already there.

There's a boy sitting on one of the swings.

She stops, only a few yards away from him, not really knowing what to do. He's facing the other way right now, so he can't see her. But he will, if she goes into the building. He could give her away. But as the same time, he's a kid too, even if he looks a little older, and she trusts kids more easily.

And for some reason, she already feels her fears quieting down slowly inside of her.

So she comes closer to him, now more intrigued than anything else. _She_ shouldn't be here in the first place, but she has a valid reason. What is _he_ doing here, sitting there in the middle of the night?

He doesn't even have a coat on.

When she reaches him, she goes around the swing set so she can see his face. He looks at her, not even looking surprised.

Actually, he mostly looks sick. She knows about sick faces. And that boy has a sick face.

"Aren't you cold?" She asks, because she's three, and really, he doesn't have a coat, and he's shaking.

He shrugs. "No, I don't feel the cold. I have a fever, so I feel cold all the time."

"Still. You're going to get sick. Or sicker."

He smiles, and she smiles too, because she suddenly feels much better. Her visceral need to find Nick has disappeared too. She's by no mean a shy child when she's feeling good, so she just goes and sits on the other swing.

"How old are you?"

"Five."

He's obviously not very talkative.

"I'm three. I had my birthday in October."

He just stares ahead. He doesn't look annoyed by her though, so she keeps talking.

"Why are you here? Alone outside, I mean."

He looks at her, then, and really, he doesn't look that good. "Because I'm not allowed to go out during the day. I just wanted to see the moon."

That's a weird thing to say. "You don't want to know why I'm here?"

He shrugs again, staring at the moon now, and she can see that he has blue eyes. "Not really. You're going to get in trouble though."

"You too!" She answers with a scowl, because she thinks he's going to go tell someone and she thought she could trust him.

He smiles. "I'm not going anywhere or telling a grownup. Someone will be out for me soon anyway. My dad will realize I'm missing and he will flip."

"Who's your dad?"

"Walter Bishop."

"OH, I know Walter! He plays Games with us. Do you live here? Why aren't you in the Daycare with us?"

"I don't live here, I live somewhere else in the town, but my mom had to leave for the night and left me with my dad."

"You go to another Daycare then?"

He smiles again, but somehow she knows it's not a happy smile, and she wonders why someone would smile if they weren't happy. That's just silly.

"I don't go anywhere. I'm too sick; my mom doesn't want me to go out of the house."

"Well, that's silly that you are here, then. Aren't you going to get sicker or something?"

Another shrugs. "I don't think I can get any sicker."

She stares at him, frowning. "You're weird."

It's not a nice thing to say, and she knows it. But it's okay because he smiles big then. "Thank you."

He's _really_ weird. But she likes him.

"What's your name?" She asks, realizing just now that she hasn't asked yet.

"Peter."

And when he doesn't ask for her own, she just tells him anyway.

"I'm Olive."

"Now _that's_ a weird name."

She jumps out of the swing. "Hey! Don't be mean!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean it in a bad way." He looks sincere, so she just shrugs. She's really starting to feel cold though, and tired.

"I'm going inside. Come with me?"

He hesitates, looking at the almost full moon for a moment. Then he simply jump off the swing, and together, they walk in silence to the building.

Olive never makes it to the dormitory, though.

As Peter had predicted, Walter had realized his sick son was gone and had started searching the building frenetically. He intercepts the children in the entrance hall. Her parents are called, and Daddy comes and gets her, looking livid. She knows she's in trouble.

But right now, Peter is still standing next to her, listening to his dad's loud protestations, and she doesn't feel worried.

When their dads take them different ways, they exchange one last look, and one last smile.

Olivia will never see him again.

Not that version of him, anyway.

* * *

OoOoOoO

* * *

Later, when she tells the story –most often forced by some psychiatrist, rarely of her own accord, she tells it in a way that suggests it was her mom he'd beaten up that night, her mom's nose he had broken.

But it isn't. It's Rachel's nose.

Rachel curled up on the floor, her arms around the table's leg, clinging to it as if her life depends on it.

Their mom isn't even here. She's in the hospital because she had a relapse.

But Olivia discovers pretty quickly after that night that people don't look at her with as much pity when she says it was her mom instead of her sister, so she changes the story, and sticks to it.

But right now, the story is still unraveling.

Dan is already drunk when he comes home.

He doesn't care about the fact that he's legally supposed to be in the house with them while their mom is in the hospital. Olivia doesn't need him around, of course; if he could just get out of their lives all together, that would be great.

She knows she's only nine, but she can take care of her mom and of Rachel. She can protect them.

But she fails tonight.

Rachel breaks a glass. That's how it's starts. Because she breaks a glass, by accident, just when he enters the house, as drunk as can be.

"You little, useless piece of shit! Who do you think is paying for those things?" He yells.

"Rachel, go to your room," Olivia says, giving her _the_ look, before turning to her stepfather. Her heart is already thumping hard beneath her chest, but she doesn't let it show. She knows he loves it when he gets them scared. "It was an accident, Dan. She was thirsty. She tripped and dropped the glass."

"You!" He yells to Rachel, who is already making a beeline for the door. "Stay here. Olive, you get out."

He points at the door, anger deforming his sweaty face, and all she can think about is that she has to protect Rachel.

"Dan, it was an accident."

He just comes at her then, grabbing her by her long hair, and she can't help but scream in pain as he drags her out of the kitchen.

She fights with all her might of course, but he's more than twice her size, three times her weight. She scratches, even try to bite, but he's too strong.

Before she knows it, he has thrown her into the bathroom, and she falls against the bathtub; by the time she's scrambled to her feet again, he has taken the key out of the keyhole and closed the door loudly.

_CLICK._

" No!" She shouts, running to the door. It's closed. "Dan, don't hurt her! I swear I will kill you if you hurt her!"

In the kitchen, he yells again.

And then Rachel screams.

Olivia throws herself hard against the door, hurting herself in the process, but she's too out of her mind with hatred and fear to realize that there is no way in hell she will get out that way. She attacks the door again, and when it does nothing but send pain in her throbbing shoulder, she tries the handle, pulling, pushing, up and down again and again and again, focusing with all her might.

Another heartbreaking scream reaches her ears, and Olivia feels like she's exploding.

_CLICK._

The door is suddenly open and she loses her balance for a second, half expecting _him_ to be on the other side. But there's no one.

She doesn't even think about it, she just runs to the kitchen. As she stumbles into the living room, the entrance door closes loudly, quickly followed by the sound of an engine starting up. But she's already in the kitchen.

Her little sister is on the floor, holding on to one of the table's leg, sobbing and shaking violently.

There's blood all over her.

"Rachel!" she cries, almost throwing herself to the floor next to her, taking her head in her hands, trying to determine where the bleeding is coming from.

Her nose. It's her nose. She looks around frenetically and spots a dirty towel a few feet away. She reaches for it and presses it hard on her sister's face. She cries in pain, still sobbing.

"It's okay, baby," she tries to reassure her, but the truth is, she's scared to death. What if it's really bad and she bleeds out? What is she supposed to do? What would her mom do? "Sweetie, Rachel, please, hold the towel, there, keep your head up, I'm going to call 911. I won't go anywhere."

But as she stands up on shaky legs, her hands covered with blood, she then hears a sound that freezes even her own blood in her veins.

A car is stopping in front of the house.

He has turned around. He's back.

Olivia has two choices, here, and she knows she has to choose quickly.

She can either stay still and stand there stupidly, waiting for him to come back and see what he wants from them.

Or she can fight back.

Olivia runs to _his_ room, then, not knowing that at that very moment, another universe was just created, a universe in which she hasn't moved.

But this is irrelevant.

She simply opens the drawer, grabs the gun, and runs back to the living room, already aiming at the door.

The gun is incredibly heavier than it looks, and even if she knew it would be because she has held it before, her hands are slippery with blood; but she holds on to it tight, breathing hard and loud.

Waiting.

And then the doors open, and he comes in.

She doesn't even let him speak.

They exchange a look, though. He looks clearly stunned by the sight of her with his gun, and she has no way of knowing that at that instant, he's catching a glimpse of the woman she will be in twenty years.

She might be small and skinny, covered in sweat and tears and blood, but that look in her eyes is making all the difference in the world.

So she pulls the trigger, aiming for the head.

But she is only a kid, and she's shaking, and the gun is heavy. The bullet hits him in the shoulder.

He doesn't even fall, while she's disoriented by the blast and the energy that came out of the weapon. But she knows she can't let him see her weakness. He's still strong; he can lunge at her and grab the gun.

So she loads it again, and shoots, aiming for his chest.

She succeeds.

She's pretty sure it went in close to his heart.

He doesn't fall on the ground right away, though. He's still standing, slumped against the doorframe, as blood spreads quickly on his once grey shirt.

He still hasn't said a word, and neither has she. But it's _his_ turn to give her a look, as she loads the gun for the third time.

It's like he's almost daring her to finish.

But she can't.

* * *

Three months later, she gets a card for her birthday.

It's a picture of a red rose in black and white, making the flower dark and eerie. There's no name, no address.

Inside, it says: "_I'm thinking of you_."

And just above the inscription, there are two words, written in black ink:

**TRUST ME.**

But Olivia doesn't trust anybody, for the exception of her mom and her sister.

On that very minute, though, as she stares at those words that will haunt her for the rest of her life, Olivia understands that people with a grudge should be trusted as well.

* * *

OoOoOoO

* * *

Olivia is fourteen when she painfully realizes that, like any other adults, parents lie to you, too.

She's by no mean a stupid girl; most people actually often say that she is very bright and mature for her age, sometimes a little too much. So she has of course known for years that her mom could lie.

But all those lies she tells, she mostly tells them to herself.

"_Daddy went to Heaven, baby." _ What she really means is that he was killed on mission and his body has been put in a box now buried in the ground.

"_We can't live just by ourselves anymore, Olive, I'm too sick. We need Dan." _They could have kept going just fine, just the three of them. They would have been happier.

"_He's not _such_ a bad guy in the end; he just has a…problem." _

A problem two bullets couldn't solve.

But it's not until she's fourteen, sitting next to her hospital bed with her silver cross in her hand, that her mom tells her the biggest lie of all.

"_You're going to be fine, baby. Even when I'm not here anymore. Trust me."_

But as she watches the casket being lowered into the ground, Rachel sobbing hard against her arm, Olivia realizes just how wrong her mom was. And she feels dead inside, just like her mom had felt for years, even before that cancer finally got the best of her. And she doesn't know what's worse.

That her mom died, or that by doing so, she has left her with nobody to trust but her eleven year old sister?

And she can't hold back her sorrow anymore, a dry sob coming out of her, as she understands that in the end, her lie is what hurts the most.

Because, let's be honest.

She knows she will never be fine.

* * *

OoOoOoO

* * *

Olivia's life is a lonely life.

But it's alright. That's how it's always been, and how can she miss something she's never had?

She's pretty content with herself; Rachel is doing good, being the social butterfly _she_ never was; school is good, too great even.

Learning and books are her safe haven, and she immerges herself into both with all her might. She doesn't even care about the weird looks her classmates give her, or the fact that they call her 'Han', more or less behind her back. As for 'Han Solo', yes.

She goes through Boarding School, and goes to college.

Then, she falls in love.

And love is a funny thing, really.

In a heartbeat full of endorphins, it makes you want to change, so you can be a better person for that special being. And before you know it, you have actually changed.

And it's not always a bad thing.

Lucas is smart, smart enough to abide her intense love of books and all the studies hours, joining her in the library and debating animatedly about nothing and everything.

Lucas is funny. She has stopped counting how many times he has made her laugh so hard that her stomach actually hurt. And she realizes then that laughing is an amazing feeling, and that really, she should do it more often.

Lucas is sociable. He takes her out, and introduces her to his friends. At first, she's awkward, feeling out of place, underdressed, and simply inadequate.

She buys make up. She buys a dress. Then another one. Then she calls one of the girls she has met so she could come over and show her how to put on eyeliner correctly, because she simply looks ridiculous.

Lucas is sweet and warm. Lucas is real and strong, and she loves to breathe in deeply right _there_, in the crook of his neck, where his scent is the strongest.

And then, Lucas is gone.

And she doesn't get it. Why it hurts so much.

Sure, she misses him. He had invaded her life, her head and her heart for more than three years. But she's not so lonely anymore, her world never revolved around him. She has friends, she goes out, dresses up from time to time, and has become a lot more confident about her own body, embracing the young woman within her.

Her friends tell her it's normal to feel pretty bad for a while after that kind of abrupt breakup, and they call him the nastiest names, trying to make her feel better.

But she knows it's not the breakup, not really.

And then, it hits her.

It's the betrayal of trust that comes with it.

Without realizing it, she had come to trust him, like she had never trusted anyone before who wasn't immediate family. How, and why, she can't figure it out.

She simply did. And she understands now why she has always trusted her family so blindly.

And that is her first real lesson on love.

With love, you come to trust people.

But it still doesn't mean they can be trusted.

So she promises herself she will never love again.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

Olivia falls in love four years later.

It's unexpected, but then again, love rarely sends you a two weeks' notice. It simply imposes itself on you, and you can't do anything but yield to its bittersweet claws.

It's okay, though. She knows this is the purest love of all, and that nothing will ever compare to it.

One look into those beautiful green eyes, and she knows her heart is forever taken.

She has fallen asleep in her arms while she was feeding her, and Olivia is now trying to burp her like Rachel has showed her –against her shoulder. But the baby's head has found its way into the crook of her neck, and she can feel each little rapid breath coming out of her tiny nose against her skin.

Olivia closes her eyes, then, still rubbing Ella's back gently. She breathes in deeply, intoxicated by that wonderful baby scent of her hair, of her whole minuscule body against hers.

And for a while, there, she believes with all her heart that life is actually pretty good.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

Lies.

Blood.

Tears.

Where is it, then? All the romantic craps that make you believe that love brings you happiness, comfort and a sense of belonging?

Olivia hates to cry; she has always hated to cry. It takes a lot for her to break down, even more to make her do so in the view of dozens of people.

And yet there she is, sobbing her heart out in the back of an ambulance, trying to calm herself down.

But every time she thinks she's getting there, John's bloody face forces itself in front of her eyes again, and the aching hole in her chest burns deeper and deeper, and she cries harder.

She loved him; she loves him. To the point where she has actually admitted it to him, which is even rarer for her than tears.

And all she got in return was a knife stabbed in her back, piercing her heart in the process.

There you go again, then.

You love, you trust.

And then the betrayal comes.

And that's her second lesson on love.

With love, you trust people, even when you promised yourself you would never be fooled again.

But Olivia knows this was her last time.

She will never love again.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

**N/A**: Like I said, the second (and last) part will be posted tomorrow…if you want it :p It will obviously revolved around Olivia and Peter, from season 1 to…later :D

I would really deeply appreciate any feedback on this!


	2. PART 2

**Spoilers**: Up to 3x08 "**Entrada**"; the second part will also have spoilers for "**Marionette**" (3x09)

**N/A: **Here's the second part, as promised! :)

Beware; it contains a lot of spoilers about "Entrada", and also about "**Marionette**". I've used what we know from the 2 promos and the scene-maker for that episode, so if you are spoiler-free, I'm afraid you should only read half of this part :D

Thank you for your reviews, and for the alerts and favorites ! I really appreciate it :)

Again this is unbetaed, and sadly enough, my brain is still French!

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* * *

TRUST ME

* * *

**

**Part 2**

Peter Bishop is a strange man.

Not as strange as his father, of course, but she doesn't think anybody can ever be as weird as Walter is.

Peter's weirdness is different.

He's incredibly smart, and yet, he looks nothing like the genius he actually is.

He's funny, but it's not the kind of funny that makes you laugh until your cry. It's more subtle; he's witty and sarcastic, and even if she often rewards him with a 'not-amused' look, she regularly has to force herself not to let a tiny amused smile cross her lips.

At least at first she does. Later, she will not really care anymore, and will simply offer him her smile and her own sardonic reply, but she's not quite there yet.

If he had put himself to it, with a brain like his, Peter could now be a very rich man; instead, in the few weeks she has known him, she has learned that he's had more small jobs in his life than all her friends from College put together.

And Peter is…she doesn't really how to describe this.

He's always there.

She knows he could quickly become a constant in her life, someone she will come to depend on.

And she knows she should back off, put more walls up, because that's how it starts, isn't it? You rely on people, and next thing you know, they're not here anymore and you're left trying to fill the void.

But she's not too worried. She's still grieving John and his betrayal, and nothing is more important to her right now than this job and the answers she needs to get.

And yet, Peter Bishop always lingers a second too long in her mind.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

Olivia is so tired.

So incredibly _tired_.

She feels his fingers in her hair, the gentle but possessive way they're digging into her scalp, as if to bring her closer to him. And she thinks she could fall asleep, right there.

Face against his chest, wrapped into his scent and his warmth, knowing that he will not go anywhere, her eyes are already closed; it wouldn't take much.

But she opens her eyes, then, realizing what she's doing, what she's thinking.

She cannot go there again. As much as she loves every second of comfort he's offering her, she knows it's dangerous to go down that road.

So against her will, she forces herself to get away from his embrace.

She cannot get too far, though, as he still has his hand in her hair.

"We should get going; we need to go to the restaurant," she says, avoiding his gaze, half hoping he would just take his hand down now, half wishing he wouldn't.

And what she doesn't tell him is that she needs to go there so she can make _sure_ she wasn't sitting at that table.

"Olivia, you need to sleep."

She shakes her head, still staring at his chest. "I need to get this done, Peter. I can't lose any more time being emotionally weak."

"Emotionally…what?" he chuckles, and she finally looks up at him, ready to give him a hurt look, but he's not amused; he mostly looks incredulous. "You are _human_, Olivia. There's absolutely nothing wrong with letting your feelings overwhelm you from time to time."

She finally takes a few more steps back, and his hands slid off her head, as irritation grows in her again.

"Really, Peter? Go tell that to that woman and her husband, that it's _okay_ to let your feelings overwhelm you, to the point where you get gutted in the middle of a restaurant."

He raises his hands in front of him, as if to shield himself from her anger and self-loathing. "Hang on, there," he says calmly. "I am not talking about the case; I'm talking about you, you needing to allow yourself some down time."

"Who cares about me?" she snaps back without thinking, and she knows she's already asked that before. "I need to stop whatever's happening to those people because of my dreams."

He gives her a small smile, then, and she knows he remembers it, too.

What he had answered the first time.

"You need to start letting people in, Dunham," he says softly. "Believe or not, there is more than one person in your life who cares about you."

She stares at him, loving and hating the way her heart beats a little too fast within her chest at that moment, as she stares into his blue eyes.

And against her better judgment, she decides to be honest.

"I've got trust issues," she admits, before biting down on her lip, almost apologetically.

He chuckles again, tilting his head, and giving her his favorite crocked smile: "Yeah, I figured that out ten seconds after we met, sweetheart."

She gives him a glare that isn't really a glare, then, and turns around muttering: "You didn't just say that."

And as they walk to the exit, he replies behind her: "You'll come to love it, Dunham. You'll come to love it."

He doesn't add '_Trust me._'

She likes that.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

No matter what happens to you in life, how many betrayals you experience, how many people hurt you, there will always be at least one person you'll let in without hesitation.

Those people are rare, but they exist.

At first glance, they are like any other people; they have qualities and flaws, they have regrets and things to be proud of.

They have dreams and nightmares.

And yet you simply trust them, unconditionally.

Because how could you not trust your guardian angel?

"_You can fool the doctors, kiddo. You can't fool me_."

And he was right, of course. Charlie Francis has always been right, ever since that first day, when he had told her so gruffly and honestly: "_You're gonna be fine._"

She had believed him when she hadn't even believed her dying mother.

She never was able to fool him. He always saw right through her from day one, always knew what to say to make her smile, or make her spill her guts out to relieve the building anguish inside her chest.

She trusted him blindly because she had absolutely no reason not to.

And yet, he had apparently managed to fool _her_.

When she pulls the trigger again, aiming for his head this time, she knows she won't miss.

She's not a child anymore.

The bullet goes right through his skull and he slowly falls to the ground, red and silvery blood trickling down his forehead.

And she falls to her knees too, still out of breathe, and her loud intakes of air soon turn into half-broken sobs, as she rests her burning forehead against the cold concrete.

It appears that she was wrong again.

You _usually_can trust your guardian angel.

Unless there is a monster with silver blood wearing their skin.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

A few months from now, Peter would say: "_We all draw our moral lines in the sand_."

And even if he won't say those words to her –not really, Olivia's feelings at the moment are relevant.

What do you do, when your own morality is put through trials, and you have to make a choice that will have disastrous consequences either way?

Because, as much as she might dislike that fact, she knows she and Peter's dynamic is deeply founded upon trust. She can lie to herself of course.

It's not _him_ she trusts, it's the idea of him being always present when she needs him, only a phone call away.

She doesn't _trust _him.

Olivia doesn't trust anymore, remember?

But she cares; deeply enough for fear to explode within her when his face comes so close to hers that she can feel his breath on her lips.

"_Peter…I'm scared."_

Scared of doing this again, scared of losing him and everything he represents. Because that's what happens, when you go there. You get too much and then you lose everything.

But she can't move away. His fingers on her cheek burn her skin in the most delicious way, and he's so close, and he looks at her with those eyes that ignite another kind of flame within her.

But mostly, she's scared.

"_Don't be."_

She knows she can thank him for all the lives she's able to save that night.

That's why she has to tell him the truth.

She has to tell him about the glimmer, that shiny aura that surrounds him like a white shadow.

And she convinces herself that she will tell him. She can understand Walter's distress about this, though, because once the truth is out, it will affect her and their dynamics just as drastically.

She knows what betrayals feel like. She can't do that to him.

Honesty might be the painful way to go, but it's also the most considerate and respectful option.

And there he stands, in her living room, having come running at her call, and it's the perfect opportunity to tell him.

And yet, she doesn't.

She stares at him, and he stares back, smiling softly, apparently loving the fact that she has him on speed dial.

She doesn't want to lose him.

What she doesn't know is that it's precisely that fear of losing him that will take him away from her, eventually.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

The woman standing in front of her is a perfect replica of herself.

And yet, she's not.

From the first time she has seen her, less than two days ago in the Opera House, Olivia could tell this version of her wasn't nearly as burdened as she was.

Watching her gives her the oddest feeling of envy.

It's as if she possesses something she's lost years ago. It's in the way she swaggers when she walks, or in that almost permanent cocky smile on her lips.

Olivia briefly thinks she wouldn't mind trying that care-free attitude and see how it feels.

You should be careful what you wish for, though.

But it's nothing but a fleeting thought among a hundred others that go through her mind at each passing minute.

Mostly, all her thoughts are intensely focused on one thing and one thing only.

"I need to speak to Peter Bishop. He's in danger here and he needs to understand that."

'_Need'_ even seems too weak a word to express the aching yearning she feels inside of her when she thinks of Peter right now.

She hasn't seen his face in almost three weeks now, expect for the security camera's footage, and this desire to find him and make sure he's safe has worsened dramatically ever since she has discovered what was planned for him here.

She was delusional for a very long time, when it comes to Peter and her feelings for him; but at the moment, she doesn't care about pretending anymore.

She's pretty sure crossing universes for a man speaks for itself.

And now, her Alternate might be the only chance she has left to ever get to him; she needs to show her she means no harm –despite the fact that she's pointing her gun at her.

"This isn't just an assignment, is it?" _She_ asks. "Are you two a couple? Is that what this is about?"

She's mocking her. She sees it her smile, hears it in her voice and her chuckle. Olivia doesn't like being mocked on serious matters.

But again, she just doesn't care.

She has seen _her_ with her boyfriend. She can understand her situation, can't she? Wouldn't she do the same to save that man?

This is a delusional thought, and she knows it. She very well knows that to the eyes of everybody in this Universe, she's the enemy.

But this is not just any random person.

This is _her._

"Please, I need to speak to him." She repeats.

But the face in front of her remains cold, unbending, expect for that little smile, while hers contracts with despair. So Olivia tries her last card.

Even if she highly doubts it's going to work.

All she can do is hope that this version of her really has fewer issues than she does.

"You gotta trust me," she says with a smile. "I'm you."

Unfortunately for her, it would appear that trust isn't something any Olivia from any universe gives easily.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

Locked up in that room again, Olivia knows that hope is the only thing keeping her from breaking down completely.

There's nothing else for her to cling to, really.

And she feels so scared, all the time now. Every time the door opens, she thinks it's for the last time. They don't need her anymore, they've got what they were looking for, they have no reason to keep her alive.

Earlier, when they first put her in there and locked her in the dark, she thought that maybe, just maybe, they would use her to bring their Olivia back to this world.

But she doesn't need to be breathing for it to work, and she knows it.

And when she sees what they have actually drawn on her skin, she realizes they know it too.

They're going to cut her open and take whatever they want.

When the door opens again, she instinctively curls up into herself against the bench, awaiting the strong and unyielding hands that will grab her and force her down the hall to her death.

But instead, her last thread of hope enters the room.

When she'd seen him earlier in the hall, as they were _dragging_ her to the lab, she had begged him.

Olivia never thought a time would come when she would have to beg for her life. But when death isn't a dark shadow in your mind anymore but an upcoming reality, preserving your pride becomes so irrelevant.

Philip Broyles is her last and only hope, and she will beg him on her knees if she has too.

"Thank you for not giving me up." He says softly. "You easily could have."

The spark of hope burns brighter inside of her, his honesty proving that he knows his wife and son are still alive thanks to her.

She pushes his soft spots harder. "How's your son?"

"He's sleeping through the night again. We owe that to you, I want you to know that I realize that."

She simply stares at him, waiting. Waiting for him to tell her he would help her.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" is what he asks instead, and her heart sinks.

But she smiles anyway, because that is what she does when despair invades her whole body so intensely it hurts. She smiles and comes closer to him, because she has nothing left, nothing left to lose.

He's her last chance.

She shows him the markings on her forehead.

"They're sending me back. They're gonna swap me for your Olivia. But…they're gonna kill me first."

She knows he cares; he can't keep his eyes locked with hers after hearing those words. When he looks at her again, she keeps going, matter-of-factly.

"They're gonna cut out my brain and study it."

He averts his eyes again, clenching his teeth, and she can't take it anymore, losing her strong demeanor.

"Please, help me," she begs softly again, grabbing his arms. "If you can get me out of her I can get myself home."

"I can't." He looks at her, his face hard now. "My world is dying because of what your side is doing to us."

She tries to convince him of the truth, that her world really _isn't_ at war with his, but she knows how she sounds.

She sounds like a desperate woman, who would say about anything to get more time.

She only wants more time. And he knows it.

"You'd say anything right now because your life depends on it. But what if your side has every intention of our destruction? Am I supposed to just hope you're telling me the truth?"

"If you don't trust me… " she starts, but she has to stop because she doesn't miss the irony in what she's saying. She's asking him to risk everything for her, she asking him to trust her, when she has trusted so few in her life. But his trust is all she has left. "…then there is no hope."

And hope, that last thing that was keeping her from giving up, leaves the room with him a minute later.

Leaving her here to die.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

He comes back for her, though.

Just when she thinks everything is over, that this is it, the bone saw about to cut through her skin and bones until it kills her, he comes back and saves her life.

A good shot of adrenaline on top of it is all she needs to get her determination back.

And with it comes her deep longing for _home_.

She knows she's getting a second chance, here, a second chance at life.

A second chance to appreciate it more fully.

And she thinks of Peter.

"Look, I've seen war. But if what you're saying is true…in the end, I have to believe in hope. Please make it worth it."

And as the doors of the tank close on the face of her savior, she promises herself that she will, if it's the last thing she does.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

Isn't life ironic, though?

She comes home feeling more alive than she has ever been before. Quite battered by everything she's been through during last two months, of course, but her joy at simply being back _home_ might be one of the most incredible feelings she has ever experienced.

So naturally, she should have known she was about to get crushed down again.

She's heard that ignorance is bliss. For once, she might agree with this.

From the moment she wakes up in the hospital and lays her eyes on Peter for the first time in months, she knows something is wrong.

He looks…heartbroken. Which is strange, really, considering the fact that she's back and _alive_.

When she smiles, he doesn't. When she thanks him for saving her life, he swallows hard and kisses her head.

She should have read the signs.

The fact that the first words he speaks to her are an apology is her warning. She ignores it.

As much as she ignores the fact that he seems to be avoiding her, avoiding her eyes, when all she wants to do is get lost into his.

She has missed him, _so much_. Out of the eight weeks she has spent stuck Over There, five of them were spent locked away, with nothing to do but think. Think about what she had lost, about the things she should have done, the people she should have loved more.

He was always on her mind.

Even when she was brainwashed, he was there, forcing her to remember who she was.

It isn't hard to understand why she's craving for some eye contact now that he's around her again, craving for some kind of connection.

But she spends three days in the hospital, and during those three days, he never visits her alone again. He's always with one of the others, and he barely ever speaks, unless she asks him something.

"We should have known, Olivia, I'm so sorry…" Astrid tells her with tears in her eyes.

Olivia smiles and squeezes her hand. "It's alright. Don't worry about it; I don't blame any of you, I'm just happy to be back."

Which is true. So true that she can almost feel her whole body vibrate at the same frequency than the rest of her Universe.

Standing a little farther away in the room, Peter stiffens at her words and briefly closes his eyes.

And she ignores that sign too.

She checks herself out the next morning, on her own. Not because she doesn't want company, but because she now has her freewill back and she's planning on enjoying it fully.

She has asked Astrid to bring her some of her clothes the day before, and she happily puts on her old coat.

Her first stop is Broyles' office.

And it's quite a buzz killer.

As she stands in front of him, images flash behind her eyes. She sees the other Broyles, the one who died for her.

Nobody has told her that, but she's a smart woman. The gunshots in the lab Over There were what made her cross over. And she sees it in _his_ eyes too.

Somehow, he knows.

"Dunham, you should take more time off," he tells her, and his voice is softer than usual, and her feeling of déjà-vu increases. "You've been through quite an ordeal and I would understand if you needed some time to get back into things."

But she stares at him, suddenly feeling the loss of one of the only person who believed in her There. She thinks of Henry and of all the risks he took to help her, when he didn't even knew her.

She thinks of _him_, and his last words to her. "_In the end, I have to believe in hope. Please make it worth it."_

And she tells herself then that from now on, she will do better and trust people more easily.

The world might be full of guardian angels.

"I made a promise to a friend Over There," she says with a raw honesty she might never have used two months ago. And she _knows_ he knows who she's talking about. "I need to go back to work."

And that's how she gets her gun, her badge and her life back.

Or at least that's what she thinks.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

The first time Olivia comes back to her apartment, she doesn't even notice how wrong things are.

She sees traces of her all over the place, of course, but she had expected it. She _had_ lived her life for two months, just like she had lived hers for three weeks. The similarities stop here of course, but the fact is that she doesn't want to worry about it too much just yet. She's got her job back, and she intends to get the rest of her life back on track as well.

Starting with her hair.

She dyes it back to blond as soon as she goes back to her place. She's barely finished when Broyles calls her and tells her they have a case. She dries it, ties it up in a ponytail and pins back her bangs.

She even smiles at herself before exiting the bathroom, loving the familiar image she sees there. Feeling like this might be the start of a good day.

* * *

Or not.

"I thought she was you, Olivia." Peter's words, even if they hurt despite her best intentions of forgiving him, are not surprising.

She _knows_ that already.

But she keeps trying convincing herself that there must be another reason for his anguish look and tensed body.

"It's fine. We're good." She tells him with a smile.

She might not have been that forgiving in the past. But to be honest, she simply wants to put that whole thing behind her. She's ready to let it go. But he has to let it go, too.

He doesn't.

He swallows hard, and there it is again, all over his face and deep down in his eyes. That broken feeling she just can't quite figure out yet.

"No, Olivia, what I mean is…we came back from Over There, and I thought she was you. We…we picked up things were you and I left them, that night."

And just like that, the pieces come together.

What she sees in him, clearly devouring him from the inside, is guilt.

And her whole body goes numb, as realization dawns on her.

"You slept with her."

It's not a question. But he answers anyway.

"Yes."

She presses her lips together, hard, looking down at her coffee cup. Less than two minutes ago, a simple sip of that acre beverage had been enough to make her feels like she was home again. Like she belonged.

Now, the smell coming out of it makes her feel nauseous.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," he says, chocking a little on her name, but she still doesn't look up. "I'm so very sorry. I wish I didn't have to inflict this on you, but you need to know the truth."

For some reason, she immediately gets his insinuation, reminding her that she's lied to him in the past, and she wishes she could feel angry at him for implying it _now_.

But she simply feels numb.

"It's fine," she repeats then in a hollow voice, staring at the thin smoke swirling out of her cup, and for some reason, it reminds her of amber and quarantine. "Like you said, you thought she was me. I get it."

He falls silent, and so does she. When she finally looks up, the rims of his eyes are red, and the look of desperation on his face is heartbreaking.

But she simply feels numb.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

The second time Olivia goes to her place, it feels all wrong.

She feels like she's suffocating the minute she steps in.

And really, she doesn't know what to do with herself anymore.

All her happiness, all her hopes, all her new found optimism and faith in people, it's all gone.

The numbness is clearing up alarmingly quickly now that she's back here, replaced by an ache she doesn't want to feel.

It suffocates her. So she takes a shower, hoping it would help her get rid of the smothering feeling growing steadily inside of her.

It does, for a minute or two.

Then, as she stands in her robe in front of her dresser's mirror, drying her hair with a towel, she catches a glimpse of something on the back of her neck. She had almost forgotten it was there.

She traces the shape of the tattoo, almost feeling the weight of the foreign ink on her skin.

She will never be able to get rid of her completely, will she?

A voice in her head agrees, and she's pretty sure it's _her _voice.

Because after all she's been through to be herself again, to come back here and take back what is hers, the truth is that she will forever be in her head now.

Just like she's impregnating everything around her.

And there it is, at long last; the anger she has been longing for ever since Peter's revelation.

She knows anger, she can deal with anger.

So she grabs an armful of the clothes hanging in the dresser and throws them on the floor. Grab, throw, grab, throw, and repeat until there's nothing hanging in there anymore.

She looks around, her blazing eyes stopping on the simplest things. There is perfume she has never worn before, make up she would never put on, concert tickets she would never have bought in the first place. Everything ends up on the floor.

But the most outrageous thing of all is of course the bed in the middle of the room.

She doesn't even want to _think_ about it. She simply wants it gone, all gone, and so she lets her anger direct her.

She grabs the sheets and pulls hard, stripping it down until there's nothing left but a bare mattress.

She wants to ignore the fact that Peter has slept in those sheets with _her_, but as she moves them around hastily, his scent invades her nose, and she has to stop for a moment as the throbbing ache reappears in a flash.

But she will not give in. She will not yield to it.

So she gathers the bed's linens in her arms and walks to the washing machine. She turns it on, and as water starts to fill it up, something on the floor nearby catches her eyes. She drops the sheets in the machine and bends down to pick it up.

It's her Northwestern shirt.

And the most random memory imposes itself in her mind as she stares at it.

_She opens her hotel room's door, toothbrush in hand, and there he stands, in his own grey M.I.T. shirt. She lets him in, smiling._

"_What?" He asks._

_She points at their shirst with an amused smile. "Cute," she says. "Except in my case, I actually graduated. I guess you bought yours to... impress the girls."_

_He nods at her perspicacity, looking exaggeratedly impressed. "More or less."_

And as she holds the shirt in her hands, now, she doesn't even have to bring it close to her face to smell his scent and _hers_ all over it.

She drops it abruptly as if it has burned her. But even when it's back on the floor, the burning feeling remains under her skin.

Except that it changes and transforms and grows into something else; something huge and implacable, invading her whole body from her toes to the tip of her wet hair.

Pain, like she has rarely experienced it before.

She grabs onto the vibrating edge of the washing machine, begging her own body to stop it, to just stop it now, she can't break down, not now, not after all she's been through.

But that's exactly the problem, isn't it?

Every single thing that has allowed her to survive Over There, it's gone. And somehow, she feels like all those things lead back to Peter, one way or another.

"_You saved my life."_

How stupid has she been? Being so honest and trustful.

Because she has been.

He _is_ the reason why she has made it back. If she hadn't been so in love with him, her need to make it back wherever he was wouldn't have get her through.

"_Because you belong with me."_

Another trustful admission that is now biting a hole through her already shattered heart.

By telling him this, she has implied that she belongs with him just as much.

Because there it is.

Love.

Happiness, at the mere sight of him.

Comfort, with a simple touch of his hand.

A sense of belonging, with a soft kiss on her head.

Until the betrayal comes, as she should have known it would, and takes it all away.

Defeated, Olivia lets herself fall to the ground, hiding her face in her hands, as heart-wrenching sobs already start breaking her whole body down.

And she knows that there's nothing new to learn about love, here.

She already knew it all.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

**

* * *

N/A:** Um. Yeah.

I won't tell you just how much I hurt myself writing that last scene. I don't know how I'm going to survive this episode, seriously!

Anyway, I know this is depressing. It's actually SO depressing that I'm seriously planning on adding another part (JUST ONE I SWEAR, this won't be a WIP haha!), I already have it planned out actually; it would wrap the whole thing nicely and give us some hope for our Polivia (I'm a sucker for happy endings). I'm taking a plane for France tomorrow night, which means 8 long hours to write.

So if you want the happy ending, PLEASE, let me know :)

* * *

OoOoOoOoO


End file.
